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Cornerstone of Misery by Draco_Scorpio
Chapter 1 : Dreams
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 5


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"And now I tell you openly, you have my heart so don't hurt me. You're what I couldn't find; a totally amazing mind. So understanding and so kind. You're everything to me..."

 






Her lips lingered on his, her hands slowly unbuttoning her blouse. He had never wanted her before this, never desired her soft skin under those heavy robes.

“Draco,” she whispered in a delicate voice, her skin warm and smooth under his hands. “Draco, I’m ready” her voice sent hot air to tickle his lips. He looked into her eyes and saw that carnal desire from within.

 

“Draco” Blaise shook Draco’s shoulder hard, causing him to wake up. “Draco, hurry up or Slughorn’ll give us detention!” Draco groaned and sat up.

“What’s the time?” Draco yawned, stretching his arms above his head.

“6.30” Blaise straightened his already loose tie. By the third grade, everyone had given up wearing their uniform neat and tidy, but Draco despised looking shabby.

“6.30? Class doesn’t start until 8.” Draco glared up at his grinning best friend. Crabbe and Goyle had long since stopped following Draco like he was some sort of prophet.

“Yeah, but you were making weird noises and I’m starving, c’mon!” He laughed as he climbed down the spiral staircase. Draco groaned again before wandering into the bathroom.

 






The concrete was cold under his feet and he hurried into a warm shower. The hot jets of water massaging his back made him think back to his dream. Her succulent white flesh writhing on top of his, her velvet lips trailing up and down his neck. Stop! He cursed himself and turned the water off. He couldn’t think about that, it was forbidden and disturbing.

“Draco...” He heard her soft moan in his head, making him grip the basin tightly, his knuckles turning whiter against the strain. How could a dream affect him like this? Especially a dream about her, it was not at all like him.

“C’mon, Draco” he heard Blaise calling, and he quickly grabbed his cloak, leaving the dormitory.

 

The Great Hall was full and noisy, as was to be expected, but Draco touched none of the food laid out in front of him, losing his appetite as soon as he spotted her sitting there with a newspaper and a mug of coffee. She looked angry or annoyed at something that she was reading. Pansy Parkinson slid down beside him, allowing Draco to look away, as she soon started talking at 100 words a second.

“Good morning, Draco. Did you hear? That idiot, Krum, has been rejected by the Mudblood, Granger. He apparently asked her out and she turned him down, saying something like: I need to focus on my studies. Pfft, yeah right, more like she needs to focus on Weasel.” Pansy snickered, making a snorting noise. Draco rolled his eyes in distaste; Pansy and her pathetic, useless gossip.

“Pansy, who cares about that Mudblood?” Millicent Bullstrode snapped.

“It was just something I heard.” Pansy sniffed delicately, and turned to Draco for support but he just shrugged her off.

“I’m going to go get my books,” Draco said, feeling a slight shiver of happiness course through him.

 

She was sitting there, alone, not even seven feet away, and he had felt a burning sensation in his chest, aching to hold her tightly. Stop it! He thought to himself sharply. He couldn’t touch her, he shouldn’t touch her, and he wouldn’t touch her.

“Excuse me,” a soft voice murmured in his ear. It was Hermione, Harry and Ron. The boys both glared up at Draco while he moved out of their way. Hermione’s eyes casually looked him up and down before turning to talk to Harry.

“You have practiced over the holidays, right?” Her voice was almost as fast as Pansy’s was, but incredibly less annoying.

“Hermione, you know that my aunt and uncle are about as friendly as Fluffy. If I was to even try practice potions in my bedroom, they’d replace the bars on my window, and make sure I could never leave. Aunt Petunia would have a fit just thinking about what might happen to her carpet.” Harry muttered darkly, his face grim but pale.

“Can we help you, Malfoy?” Ron sneered, making both Harry and Hermione look up at him.

“The day I need help from a Weasley, Ronald, will be when Hell freezes over.” Draco sneered back, before sauntering into the Potions room. He could hear Ron grumbling behind him, hearing an occasional curse, but he just smirked and walked to the back of the room.

 

One more year, Draco thought to himself, his potion bubbling away happily. One more year and I will be done with this wretched school. He thought about the terror to come, how the school wouldn’t be the same forever afterward and his gut wrenched. True, he despised this school and how they created Harry to be some kind of idol, but some of the people in it weren’t that distasteful. He’d grown accustomed to the schools unnatural way to protect its students from almost any threat, and here, Draco was, about to bring the school down. About to put hundreds of students in danger, about to put her in danger; but this had to be done. Once this was done, he would no longer be required to participate.

“Malfoy, watch your cauldron, the colour isn’t meant to be green.” Slughorn yelled across the classroom, causing him to jump. He looked down, and sure enough, his previously dark concoction had turned slime green. Draco cursed himself, and quickly went to fix it.  

 






The library was quite tonight, with only one other person wandering its shelves, other than Draco, a Hufflepuff first year, some annoying kid. “Oh, Draco...”  Her voice again moaning through his head, and he tried to block it out with reading the titles in the muggle section. Stoker, Blatty, Harris, Carroll, Maguire. He picked up Wicked by Gregory Maguire and went to a little closed off room, with an untouched couch. Sitting down, he opened to the first page and he smiled to himself. This book was a favourite, he could relate to Elphaba in that she was doing what she thought was right, even if that branded her being labelled the Wicked Witch.

He could never tell his friends this; they’d just laugh and point at him. There was no one he could share this with.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Hermione said from the doorway, looking the least bit sorry. “I thought I only used this room, my apologies.”

“Granger,” He called, standing up from the sofa. She looked back suspiciously, a book held tightly in one hand, and the handle of the wand that was stuffed down her jeans in the other. “You can sit in here, if you please. If you use this room frequently, than it is my turn to leave.” He went to move passed her, her eyes still narrow. “Goodnight, Granger.” He dipped his head as he moved passed, brushing against her slightly, but enough to make her gasp. He didn’t stop, just kept on going until he reached his common room.

 






His touch scared her, she was expecting him to curse her, even swear at her, but he kept on moving. She watched as he quickly and silently left the library and turned left to head towards his common room. Turning back to the room, she saw his body imprinted in the thick layer of dust on the sofa. She never sat there, much preferring the cosy armchair near the fireplace. Sitting down in her spot, she opened the page that she had previously marked, but didn’t read. She couldn’t focus.

Malfoy was never in the library, she had never witnessed him in the library since first year, and it was a curious sight. He was holding Wicked, and from what she saw, he was actually enjoying it. Malfoy was enjoying a muggle book? Something didn’t seem right. So she wrote a note. Previously, it had only been her that used this tiny room, but now she shared it with Malfoy.

 
Malfoy, this room is as much mine as it is yours. - Hermione

She folded the note and placed it on the sofa, with his name scrawled on it. She then turned back to her book and was happily able to enjoy it. But it wasn’t long until her thoughts began to wander again. She was forever worrying about Harry, she was frustrated about Ron and now she was curious about Malfoy. He seemed normal this morning, when he was undoubtedly rude to Ronald, but him in a library was seriously unnatural. She looked back at his sofa, before sighing and gathering her stuff. Shoving her things back in her bag, she walked out of the library and headed straight back to her common room, annoyed that she wasn’t able to read.

 






He could still smell her hair. It smelled like coconut. The gentle aroma tickling his nose each time he inhaled. He should have known she’d be in the library, if she could, she would live in there, trying to quench her insatiable thirst for books. What had she been holding tonight? Wuthering Heights; it was rather depressing tale about the failure of love. It confused him and he had no idea why, which then annoyed him. He despised being confused. It made him feel weak, and weak was the last thing he wanted to feel.

 

“Draco,” Her sweet, honey voice came from the window and he looked up. She was sitting on the sill, the moonlight dancing on her face as she smiled. She continued to sit there, her back to him, so he slowly got out of bed, hearing the soft snores of his fellow roommates. He slowly, cautiously walked over to her, and she turned back to him, giving him a rather seductive smile. Her hips swivelled towards him, and he already yearned.

 

He woke up, feeling very agitated with himself. He let his guard down, allowed her to slip into his thoughts, and from there into his dreams. His heart was beating fast as he slowly climbed out of bed. He had to go for a walk, to clear his head. It’d do him no good to just lie there and think about his dream a million times. So, pulling on his robe, he silently left the Slytherin house, and walked, walked without a purpose. It took him a while to realise where it is he was actually going; the library. The one place he could feel at ease and be himself. He pulled Wicked back off the shelf and went to the room he now shared with Hermione. A white sheet of paper was neatly folded up on the couch, curious; he went over to it and unfolded it. He read the neat words over and over. She was more obnoxious than once thought.

 
 
 

 

 

*Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. Lyrics to Dreams belongs to Cranberries.
 


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